


The Messages He Can't Give

by CavannaRose



Series: Rose Wilson Fics [8]
Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6658066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Wilson takes a job in Gotham, to deliver messages that Batman doesn't seem willing to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gotham City. Home to bats and birds, cats and crocodiles. With a menagerie such as that, what was a mercenary hunter like herself to do but settle right in amidst the fools and fiends? There was something about the Gothic gloom of the miserable metropolis that appealed to the young woman known as Ravager. Out of every city she'd stalked the streets of, it had more vigilante "heroes" per capita, and yet the crime rate continued to skyrocket. It was a gloomy little warren of alleys and empty warehouses, the kind of dank environment where scum and insanity thrived despite many valiant attempts to drive it back.

She'd made a home for herself in amidst the worst of the worst, walking through the darkest slums unscathed, her name whispered on the moldering winds. Of course, the impetus of her name was accentuated by the image of her father, but what could a girl do, really? She was what he had made of her, a carefully honed weapon, her every gesture an echo of the man who had shaped her to further his own wicked ends. So few understood just how alike they were, and those that did rarely lived to speak on the matter.

Certainly, Rose had not yet achieved the calm rationality her father was capable of displaying, but she managed to compensate with her own ability to live a moment ahead, seeing actions before they happen. Combine that with her unpredictable nature, and she had an edge against opponents who should have been able to take her out easily. Tonight's job wouldn't pose anywhere near that kind of difficulty, so long as it went uninterrupted. She was sending a message. An assassination, with a twist that moved it up in cost from a simple, straightforward act.

The Ravager could justify her mercenary work in a thousand different ways, she only took contracts against villains after all, but the coin she accepted in payment was as bloody as the deeds that she performed to earn it. She'd never truly been a victim of an overactive conscience in any case. The lower elements called her up when they needed their nasty little messages sent to one another, because a Wilson always got the job done, and if that Wilson happened to be a girl barely old enough to purchase her own alcohol? Well, that was an insult with some weight behind it.

She knelt on the mobster's roof, the details of the job flashing through her mind as she checked her weapons one last time. He was a Maroni, some distant cousin granted a position based on bloodline over skill or smarts, and he'd stepped on one too many Falcone toes in the process. The real draw of the job, however, was he had demonstrated a certain taste for sweet young things that put him squarely into the box marked Perfect Target. Her brand of justice might not qualify as such in some circles, but she was eager to mete it out, regardless. Falcone wanted an example made of the grasping, disgusting pervert, and Rose was going to relish every moment of it.

Every piece of her gear in place and perfectly in order, she tied on her mask before dropping down from the roof onto his bedroom windowsill, peering inside. The fact that she was a professional was the only thing that kept her to the plan. Though the room was dark, the fluorescent glow of the television illuminated the scene in a particularly ghastly cast, a fitting thing for the scene before her. On the television, the crying sounds of someone far too young to be receiving the treatment it was, enough to make Rose's blood boil. Her gaze shifted to the bed, where the target was sprawled across his duvet, naked. His chest heaved as he flagellated himself into a frenzy, one hand clasping himself and the other stretching out, seeking something in the rumpled covers.

Enough was enough. She swung herself back, and then drove forward, boots shattering the glass of the window, letting it come cascading through the opening all around her as she landed in a dramatic crouch, backlit by the streetlight that had turned on just at the right moment. A favour that Falcone had paid for, in the way of job expenses. The target lurched upward, eyes widening in horror as he released himself, subconsciously grasping at the counterpane to cover himself like a naughty Catholic school boy.

Rose stood slowly, shaking shards of glass from her long white hair, trapping him with her malicious, one-eyed glare. Without looking, she loosed a dagger from her wrist sheathe, tossing it with a feigned casualness, piercing the dead centre of the television screen, sending a shower of sparks across the room. At the mafioso's noise of protest, her red-painted lips curled up in a deadly smile, the slide of her katanas being released from their sheathes almost as loud as the sputtering electronics. Haloed by the outside lights, sparks dancing on the carpet around her, she pivoted to face him fully, one blade held slightly to the side in each hand, that dark promise sketched across cheeks and chin exposed below the half-mask.

"Run."


	2. Chapter 2

Unaware that her amusing dance with the dirtbag had garnered itself an audience, one that was not known for it's appreciation for her means or methods, Rose stalked calmly through the Maroni's opulent mansion. She watched with thinly veiled amusement as the her target fled before her, sheet clutched desperately around his sagging middle. He tripped several times in his haste, moving ahead of her in a frantic search for escape, or even a weapon, either result mattered little to the one-eyed mercenary.

Honestly, all the Maroni's seemed the similar to Rose. They were a cadre of corpulent, greasy sleazeballs feeding off the misery of those trapped within their grasping hands. Seeing this low-rent version of the mafia leader flee like the foul, slithering snake he was, it soothed something inside her, while at the same time exciting her blood, making her pulse begin to race in anticipation. Ravager was a hunter, when it came right down to brass tacks. Perhaps she wasn't taking out the most impressive prey, the ones that drew attention and accolades, but she was doing her part. At least the monster's she dealt with never got back up to harm another innocent.

The dark haired fiend she was pursuing in such a lackadaisical fashion stumbled against a desk at the end of the hall, falling to the ground. Idly, no sense of urgency in her motions, no tension in her limbs, the Wilson brat closed the distance between her and her evening's mark. She flipped the grip on the katana in her left hand, driving the blade forcefully through the small-time mafioso's ankle with a small grunt of satisfaction. The pervert howled in agony, jerking against the penetrating steel as he reached for the desk once more. Tougher than he looked, he managed to wrestle a handgun from it's holster on the underside of the piece of furniture.

He blindly turned the weapon on Rose, squeezing off a quick pair of shots. The sound was deafening in the tight space they occupied, ringing in the pale-haired girl's ears. There hadn't been enough adrenaline running through her veins to set off her early warning system, so she had to rely on enhanced reflexes and finely honed agility to prevent her grey matter from being splattered across the hall like a Jackson Pollock painting gone terribly, terribly wrong. She dropped down and to the left, one bullet just barely grazing her exposed her exposed cheek as she half-turned to avoid it. A small streak of re burning across her pale flesh, crimson liquid pooling along the edge and forming a fine spray of bloody mist over the wall to her right.

The assassin flashed her teeth in an amused smile, the rush of adrenaline finally roaring through her veins. One gloved hand reached forward, clasping the hilt of the katana still embedded in the man's ankle, giving it a hearty twist. "You've made an egregious error, fuckwad."


	3. Chapter 3

"Rose." The gravelly sound of the Dark Knight's voice sent the mobster cowering further into his corner, but had a very different effect on Rose herself. The young mercenary's grip on her katana tightened almost imperceptibly, one blade point remaining where it was to menace the barely clothed mafioso. Very slowly, in a movement more like her father's than the girl would ever care to admit, she pivoted on one heel, turning to meet the scowling vigilante's gaze with her own.

Her single eye burned with righteous indignation. "For someone so loathe to have their personal life advertised to the world, I'd think you would at least have the courtesy to use my professional name while I was on the job. I suppose courtesy only extends to your revolving door of underage protege's though."

Back rigid with rage, she sidestepped towards her intended victim, never letting Batman fall from the centre of her vision. "Rose isn't here right now, if you'd like to speak to the Ravager, her work will be finished as soon as this child-molesting piece of shite lies in several piles of limbs with his own fucking cock rammed so deep into his anal crevice they won't be able to retrieve it. We can talk then, so stay the fuck out of my way."

The man tried to use their conversation as a distraction to allow him to escape, but Rose was not having it. She brought her foot down fast and heavy on his already bloody ankle, causing him to scream in pain and curl back into a sobbing ball of useless human flesh. She was unwilling to allow the night-stalking saviour of Gotham steal this kill from beneath her blade. "When will you realize that some of this filth deserves death? When it's your child he's cornering with those greasy hands running over their body?"

She gave a wicked smirk, an unpleasant expression that had nothing to do with humour. "Oh I forgot... The crooks of Gotham are allowed to do whatever they want to your kids, the clown proved that with a single crowbar, didn't he?"


	4. Chapter 4

It was interesting, how the dark protector of Gotham could say so very much with such a blank face. The tension between the vigilante and the mercenary was palpable, but the one-eyed girl worked very hard to maintain her air of malicious disinterest. If he lost his temper, she won. Rose was very good at this game, she'd honed the edge of her cutting repartee on some of the scariest men in the world. One eyebrow cocked cheekily. "Nothing to say to that, Batbreath?"

"Bait me all you want... Ravager. You will not kill this man." He was an intimidating figure, all shadows and capes and rumbling voice. Too bad Slade scared her more than the big black bat ever could. The white haired killer sheathed one of her blades in order to place a hand on her hip so she could simply give the night-stalking city defender her best /look/,

"A Wilson always completes a job, and a minor inconvenience like some overbearing Bat isn't going to stop me. I'm not part of your legion of child labour. I'm not some young hero, I'm a mercenary on a job. You're too used to the short and dopey following your orders. It's not happening."

Rose's own special ability flared, and knowing the man was about to strike she danced out of the way, pulling both blades once more. The bola flew harmlessly by, and she neatly turned sideways, presenting less of a target to her new opponent, leaving her victim unguarded for the time being. She was confident she could complete her mission and get out. Closing in on the dark knight, her blades flashed, glancing off the armour guards on his forearms. She was young, and fast and strong, with an edge provided by her ability to catch glimpses of the near future, but could that and her cockiness get her past years of training? Perhaps not, but she knew Batsy wouldn't kill her, wouldn't even try, and that was always an advantage in a fight.

She brought her blades up his body, aiming to knock aside his arms, and then swung low in a sweeping kick, which he jumped over. Rose laughed, rolling out of the way and dropping one katana, a dagger appearing in her hand. She tossed it with all her strength, embedding it, and the Batman's cape, in the wood behind him. Taking his momentary distraction, she whirled around and drove her second katana through the mobsters throat, wrenching it as the light dimmed from his eyes and the crime fighter behind her made an involuntary sound of protest.

She turned, bloody blade in hand, single eye flickering between the now-freed hero and her second sword. She hated splitting the pair, but she had more. Rose blew the dark defender a kiss. "It appears that I got my wish this time, Daddybats. Don't worry. Maybe next time you can save the scuzzy pedophile from the scary teenage girl."

Batarangs flew around her, as laughing she leaped from the window, hitting the ground to take some of the impact as she rolled across her shoulders and sprung to her feet. She could hear the hero behind her as she sprinted, using all the enhanced abilities her daddy had forced upon her to dart down several alleys, over a wall and across a fire escape. Still she could sense the aggravated Bat behind her, but it wouldn't matter soon. Rounding the corner she caught sight of her motorbike, putting on an extra burst of speed before making a leaping mount. Sure he had his own gadgets to summon, but she was getting out of here now. Throttle on full she blazed back past the dark knight, not noticing as he threw a small blinking light that caught the back tire of her bike. All she knew was he wasn't keeping up with her now, and she had cash to collect.


End file.
